Where Beauty Can Be Found
by Teglan
Summary: Loki finds beauty in others. Thor finds beauty in Loki. Two-Shot. No pairings.
1. A Thing of Beauty Is a Joy Forever

A/N:

Please note that—in this story—Loki was married to Sigyn, but he didn't love her. It was an arranged marriage. They were friends, but never had any children (that's right, no Vali and Narfi trauma).

Also, Hela is half dead like the myths, but Loki doesn't mention it, because he never cared. He thinks she's beautiful anyway. ='(

* * *

Many people have tried to tell Loki what beauty is—Fandral not least among them. They would go on about the symmetry of a face, the fullness of lips, the size of a bust, or the curve of a jaw, but Loki knows the truth. He knows that true beauty can only be found in a smile.

He remembers the quiet dignity of Frigga's smile and the beaming light of Thor's grin. Yes, it is the smile, and what the smile does to the eyes, that make a person beautiful. Did Odin ever smile? He can't remember. If he did, it was never at him.

He reaches further back in his memories, to things and people he had sworn to forget: Angrboda and her lopsided smirk so full of wiles, transforming her plain face with radiant loveliness; his boys, Fenris and Jormungandr, just so much like their mother; and his little Hela, with all the warmth of the sun in her smile. Nobody ever saw their beauty but him.

He wonders—if he looks—if he can find tears to cry for them. Even after all this time, he thinks he can, so hewon't look.

Sigyn was like Frigga, he remembers; their whole beings aglow with charm and grace, their smiles stretching only as far as propriety allowed. That was alright, too. Propriety was who they were. It belonged in their smiles, and did nothing to skew their sincerity.

Waiting for Barton to set him free, Loki thinks, has given him far too much time to think. He hears something then—a guttural roar that makes him look up. He can see his reflection in the starkly lit glass cell. It takes all of a second for him to realize what the sound is, and the magnificent chaos that it will unleash gives him such a thrill that he can't help but smile.

He looks at himself in the glass, and wishes it were beautiful.

* * *

A/N:

God, that ending makes me want to listen to Mr. Jones (Counting Crows). You should, too. It's a good song. =)


	2. It Will Never Pass Into Nothingness

Beauty can be found in the ugliest places. You just have to know where to look for it.

* * *

All of his plans have fallen to ruin.

It wasn't really all that surprising. After all, any flower grown with Loki at its roots was always quick to wither when exposed to _the sun_. Yes, Thor was the sun—bright, overwhelming, and loyal. And if Thor was the sun, then Loki was the moon—pale, silent, lonely, with no light of his own. And he was tired of merely reflecting the sun.

Frigga had likened the two of them to the sun and moon before. She made it seem like they were both so preferable, as if the sun was not infinitely more loved than the moon. She had also said that he and Thor were two sides of the same coin. She made it seem like Thor wasn't heads.

He knows the truth now. He wishes he didn't. The truth was so…

Why was he always waiting? He needed something to be happening, so his thoughts wouldn't drive him mad. How long has he been sitting in this crater, in this ugly Midgardian building, just waiting? He knows that he could run, but what would be the point? He'd lost.

He'd lost.

It wasn't that surprising, no, but it_ was_ depressing. Perhaps he should try to protect Midgard, and then it would most assuredly be destroyed. Loki almost laughs at the thought, but he can't. He hurts too much.

Loki knows that the Chitauri will blame him for the inevitable failure of their ill-thought-out plan. He could see the holes in the scheme from the beginning, but he hadn't told them. He could have worked with them to construct a plan so foolproof, with so many contingency plans and loopholes, that it could not have possibly failed. But, he didn't.

Why? Because he had no reason to. He never expected to win; he just wanted to play the game. Loki had nothing against Midgard. Asgard had been the ones to betray him; Jotunheim had been the ones to cast him out; what cared he for the pitiable little world which had shown his once-brother humility? Even that woman (Jarunn, was it? No, something smaller… Jane?) did not truly incur his wrath. His threats against her had been mostly intended to taunt Thor into attack, adamant as the fool had been to "not fight him."

By his inaction, Loki had saved this world a much more terrifying fate then that pitiful ransacking the Chitauri foot soldiers managed to commit before their timely demises. In the course of his actions, he had given them the lesser of two evils.

He knows it isn't enough.

They were taking too long. Loki remembers the Avenger in the red armor offering him a drink, and was hit with the sudden urge to take him up on that offer. Just as he was raising himself to an upright position, they found him. He asks for the drink, because it's the only thing he can think of to say, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it.

They don't give it to him.

* * *

They tell him that Thor has gone out for "Shawarma." Loki is not familiar with the word, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't care. All he cares about is that it's_ silent_ again, and he can't make his thoughts stop. He thinks that this must be what madness is: tearing yourself apart from the inside out.

He can't make them stop, and they all blur together like colors in the rain. The past, the present, and the future all collide, telling him when he should have stepped right instead of left, wondering when Thor will return, wondering what will happen when he returns to Asgard, what punishments he should expect, if he'll even be left alive, and a million more.

He screams in frustration and forces his head into his hands. The chain connecting his handcuffs jangles annoyingly. He knows the ones watching him won't care. They all think he's crazy anyway.

Maybe he is.

"Loki?"

Loki cringes. Of course, Thor would have to see that. He quickly replaces the cringe with a look of cool contempt. "Ah, Thor, I was just wishing my brain would dull, and here you are."

Thor presses his lips together, but doesn't respond. Loki can remember a time when such a comment would have earned him more than a few bruises. (Metaphorically, of course, since Gods don't bruise.)

Instead Thor says, "Loki, I am only going to ask you this once more. All I want is a straight answer: Why did you do all this?"

"I've told you the answer—"

"No, Loki!"

Loki flinches.

"You are not this foolish! Someone else thought up this attack strategy, and I want to know why you went along with it!"

"Because they told me to."

Thor looked taken aback by this answer. "That's—but…"

"Dear, golden, oblivious Thor," Loki drawls. "You have no idea, do you, of what it is to be completely alone in this world? To be at the mercy of those who have none, with no one in the whole world who cares whether you're alive or dead, safe or in pain. To have no one looking for you when you are lost, no one coming to save you when you are in peril, no one fighting on your side! To be small in an enormous world."

He jabs his finger against his own chest, hard enough to bruise a mortal. "I turned to those who would give me strength enough to survive. You can care about other people, Thor, because they will care about you. I _have_ to care about myself, because no one else will. You think this is all about you, but it isn't. In fact, it has nothing to do with you at all. They gave me a task, and I completed it. _That_ is all."

"… _I_ care about you."

"Norns!" Loki exclaims, throwing his cuffed hands in the air, "Is that really all you heard just now!? Am I no longer speaking the Alltongue!?"

"Loki, I don't understand how you can't see all of the people who care about you. You say that you are alone, but you are not. You say that there is no one who cares about you, but there are. We looked for you when you were lost, we agonized over whether you still lived and if you were safe, we fought to save you _from yourself_ a thousand times! Why can you not see it!?"

"… You're a fool."

"I know that, Loki," he says gently, "but I am right. Mother and father and I, we love you, Loki."

"You can't."

"Why not!?" He's almost pleading.

"Because I am ugly, and you are all beautiful. I am not worthy of your love."

"I fail to see what looks have to do with anything, brother, but no one could ever call you ugly!"

"On the inside, you lummox. I have an ugly heart, and I accept his. I can see it in my smile. Everything that is supposed to be there is missing. I'm empty."

Thor just stares at Loki now, and there is silence. Loki can almost hear the gears turning in that blonde head.

"I remember," Thor starts slowly, "a brother with a grin as wide as the cosmos. His smile was always full of mischief and pranks, or alight with newfound knowledge. His smile was very beautiful, as was his soul. That was you, Loki. That is still you, and it will always be you. What I see when I look at you right now, is a man who has not had a good reason to smile in a very long time."

He reaches through the bars of the cell, as though hoping to catch Loki's neck in that familiar gesture. Loki is standing too far away for him to reach. He does not step forward, yet neither does he shy away.

"You have mocked with your smile, brother. You have sneered and you have grimaced, but when you smile out of—and for no other reason than—pure happiness, you will be beautiful again. I know it. Beauty like that does not simply fade away."

"I doubt I'll have any reason to by happy any time soon," Loki whispers, slightly in awe of his—of Thor for the first time in a long time.

"I don't know what father will do to you when we return home," Thor admitted, "But I swear to you, I will stay by your side through it all. I will be the brother you always deserved, but never had. I will make sure that you never again have reason to feel that you are alone, unloved, or any of those things that you have said."

Loki laughed, and it almost sounded like a sob. "You're prepared to drive me crazy over this, aren't you? I won't have a moment's peace for the rest of my life."

"Not a moment."

"… Thor?"

"What?"

"I'm tired."

Thor seems a bit deflated by this response. "Then you should rest. I suppose—"

"No, Thor, I mean I'm tired… of all of this. I'm ready to accept my punishment, I just— I want—" he swallows, "Can I come home?"

"Nothing would make me happier."

Many people have tried to tell Loki what beauty is—Fandral not least among them. They would go on about the symmetry of a face, the fullness of lips, the size of a bust, or the curve of a jaw, but Loki knows the truth. He knows that true beauty can only be found in a smile.

And he smiles, then. And he thinks that it must be beautiful.

* * *

The End


End file.
